“Man, that is a handsome baby. Do you see how handsome this baby is?” Emerson asks the server at the fancy cafe he’s insisted we have lunch at while he’s in town, picking up some of the costumes I’ve just finished.
“He sure is!” the server agrees, and as much as, yes, Donovan is an incredibly handsome baby, I’m pretty sure she’s just agreeing because Emerson Michaels is asking her.We’re on the affluent side of Wilmington, but the city isn’t known for its celebrity presence outside of big events.
The server leans down and makes cooing sounds at Donovan while pinching his cheek and calling him a chunky monkey. Blaise insists that he’s the chunkiest of monkeys, and my trips out with the WAG ladies and visits with the medical staff at the training center end with a dozen people’s hands on him, but this girl is rubbing me the wrong way.
“Could I get another mimosa?” I ask sweetly, despite my glass being half full. I’m not usually catty, and I’m already dreading tossing this mimosa back so I don’t look crazy to Emerson, but I just need the server to go away.
She does with that forced look I get from women whenever I’m out with Blaise, too, like they’re doing their best to be nice but want to stab me. I get it, sort of. Emerson is a regular on Sexiest Man Alive lists. Blaise is a thirst trap. Women probably wonder what’s so special about me that I’m having lunch with celebrities.
It’s ridiculous, though. I’m not special. I’ve got my wonderful, horrific luck, but it’s all messed up, and it’s wild that anyone would think I’m the girlfriend of either of these men. I’m okay with how I look in general, but I went from pudgy to cancer-emaciated right back to pudgy, and I doubt I’ll ever be the weight doctors want me to be.
Blaise takes care of my baby with me, but anyone using their brain and paying attention to body language can see he avoids me, and we’re hardly ever out together. Emerson, meanwhile, is literally a married man. Publicly married. His wife is nearly as famous as he is. Our affair was a total fluke, and as messed up as it was, he’s a good man in a marriage of convenience. We bonded in the hours we spent together as I fitted his superhero costumes to him, and the chemistrybetween us wasn’t physical. One of my biggest regrets is that we didn’t think to try friendship first.
Well, I guess it would have been one of my biggest regrets if I weren’t so bad at making decisions in general. I don’t think most people have as many colossal disasters as I have.
Either way, I did absolutely nothing to warrant that look from the server. Emerson hasn’t touched me at all, and no one would think Emerson is Donovan’s father — although I really don’t need him saying, “Gosh, I guess there wasn’t any reason to stress that you’d come after me about paternity,” once the server leaves.
I scowl, taken aback. For everything that’s happened in the past year, never once has Emerson indicated he was concerned about this. “Because of his complexion?” I huff loudly, attempting to snatch Donovan away, already calculating the cost of getting a ride back to my place and regretting wearing cute sandals instead of sneakers.
Emerson cringes and settles Donovan on his chest. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. There’s just . . . stuff has happened because of that weekend I gave you that hotel suite, and . . . and it’s just a good thing that he doesn’t look anything like me.” His pained smile is genuine. “I promise I truly didn’t mean anything horrible. He’s so handsome, Tilly. Really.”
I pout for another couple seconds, and yeah, I toss back the rest of my mimosa to quell the irritation. And since people near us have turned their attention to us, I decide against pointing out that Donovan’s complexion really doesn’t mean anything, since he could have gotten it from my own father. Instead, I ask, “What’s going on with the hotel?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says quickly.
“Are you sure?”
He rakes his free hand through his hair, but he doesn’t backtrack at all. “Right after that weekend, someone tried to blackmail me.”
“What?!” I squawk, and only his slightly frantic gesture gets me sitting back down.
“It was weird.” He keeps waving his hand when he notices that Donovan’s eyes have gone wide with wonder. “I got an email from someone saying they knew I was cheating on my wife. They said they had proof I was shacking up with some other girl. I called their bluff by pointing out that you’re my employee and there’s nothing all that strange about someone like me passing on a gift to someone on their staff—their payroll,”he amends quickly. “I even told them I helped you bring your stuff in because you were having medical issues at the time and went ahead and called them an asshole for trying to take advantage of a well-meaning employer giving their disabled employee an opportunity they would have never had for themselves. Sorry I talked about you like that.”
I wave him off. “Nah, you’re fine. If it got them off your back, it’s—it did get them off your back, right?”
“Yeah. So I didn’t want to freak you out when you told me about the pregnancy, but I got concerned whoever it was would try to pull something there. Since they dropped it, I didn’t want to turn this into a bigger deal reporting him or getting an investigator, but if he came back . . . we weren’t always very discreet.”
We’re both silent at that. He’s not wrong.
The server returns with my drink and a breadboard, and Emerson casually tucks his cloth napkin under Donovan’s cheek once milky drool starts to pool on his fancy bespoke shirt.
“Ooh, I can take him,” I offer. I already have drool spots on my shirt. On my skirt. Probably on my soul.
Emerson shoos me off again. “No, enjoy your drink. Have some bread. I know you. You’re not getting any time for yourself right now.”
“That’s any new mom.”
“Any new single mom.” He leans back in his seat, his eyes closed, a quiet smile on his face, unconcerned for the way Donovan has grabbed onto a button and flopped just enough to chomp it with his gums. There aren’t enough napkins in the world to save his shirt.
I clench my hands, pushing my stress through them, knowing what I need to tell him even though it’s going to shoot me in the foot. What Emerson has done for me, what he continues to do every month, regardless of how long it’s been since we were anything except friends, cannot be repaid. It can’t even be taken over by me. The easiest thing would be for me to lie and pretend that we’ll eventually return to what we once were, but I can’t.
Donovan has changed me.
Blaise has changed me.
No, the fantasy of Blaise, this wild notion that’s been brewing in my mind that has me confused about who he is in my fragile moments, this dream that deep down inside, he’s cut from the same cloth as my John from Ani-Con and secretly he does care about me for more than this responsibility he feels for Donovan, that’s what has changed me.
So I need to take this opportunity to set the record straight about how much I’m doing by myself here, how much of a single mom I really am. “That’s . . . complicated.”
